


Episode One 1: Women Who Can Kick Your Ass

by Ill_Tempered_Clavier



Series: Tongues are Wagging: The Petyr Baelish Show [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/M, I know nothing about martial arts so please forgive me or at least don’t hurt me, let us sit upon the ground & tell funny stories given the death of excellent character arcs, other random and assorted geekery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ill_Tempered_Clavier/pseuds/Ill_Tempered_Clavier
Summary: Littlefinger hosts the trashiest daytime talk show in Westeros...and well, given what everyone gets up to there, there's plenty to talk about.





	Episode One 1: Women Who Can Kick Your Ass

“Ooooooh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Brienne will not be moved: arms crossed, stance solid, eyes hard, it would take a fool or a bravo to go up against her…but unfortunately for her, Arya actually _is_ a trained bravo and throws her arguments as deftly as the tiny knives she keeps hidden in the seams of her clothes.

Arya counts on her fingers, “We need the exposure. We need the marketing materials—you know how clips from the show go viral. And we sure as hells could use the paid vacation. Come on, it’s only one afternoon out of your life.”

Yara sidles up behind Brienne and wraps her arms around her waist just under Brienne’s own arms and rubs her cheek against Brienne’s shoulder blade, a cat—or kraken—marking her broad back. “C’mon, when were you last in King's Landing?”

“Ages, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Brienne huffs. “Too loud, too dirty, too crowded.”

As her friend rants, Yara takes the opportunity to insinuate a leg between Brienne’s own and swipes out, using Brienne’s surprised shift of balance and her own arms around Brienne’s sturdy waist to dip her low and gloat with a wide, wicked smile before using the momentum to snap Brienne back to a standing position, eyebrows wagging suggestively. But it takes two to tango, and Brienne is having none of it. She breaks away in a huff only to have Ygritte peel off from the wall she’s been holding up and block her path. “We need to increase our customer base if Westerosi Warrior Women is going to survive the winter.”

“But how can we claim to be a discrete personal security firm if we go on TV where everyone can see our faces and make asses of ourselves on that ridiculous show?”

Yara grins. “Brienne, you don’t fade into the background _now_ : you’ve always been our best show…or stalking…horse. The rest of us will cut our hair, color it, dress different, wear dramatic makeup or something for our appearance.” She frowns. “If we get on.”

Arya pipes up. “Gendry’s the head production assistant for the producer. Has a lot of pull fixing up all the furniture that gets busted up on the show in between filming. Plus, he knows where to find the secret stash of gaff tape. He says we’re a sure thing, especially if we show a little skin,” she says with scorn.

Brienne is still frowning. “I’ve never understood why he’s tagging along with that band of bullies. He has talent.”

Arya shrugs. “Anything to get out Flea Bottom and stay off the radar. And he’s almost qualified for his Hedge Knight card. He’ll be able to work anywhere after that.”

Ever practical, Ygritte shoves a printout in front of Brienne’s face. “Look at the ledger. Red is lucky in hair, not in balance sheets. Come December, we’re broke.”

Brienne takes the paper and examines it. Ygritte’s right. Disgusted, she nods.

* - * - * 

Jaime nods disgustedly at the scene in front of them. “This is really how you want to spend our day off? In the audience for _The Petyr Baelish Show_? I know you like the louche,” and here he nods to Bronn sitting on Tyrion’s other side (Bronn nods back, in acknowledgement and somehow with dignity), “but this is really taking it to new depths. Good wine I understand. Beautiful women I understand.”

“But won’t look at,” Bronn mutters under his breath.

Jaime ignores him (It’s the only thing you can really do when he has a point) and rolls right on. “But this is just…” and he finally lacks words.

Tyrion takes the opening. “Perfect mindless popular entertainment. Think of it as opera.”

“I hate the opera.”

“Or Shakespeare—he wasn’t so highbrow back then, you know.”

“I hate Shakespeare.”

Tyrion places Jaime’s figurative king in check: “Then like our father, find some joy in hating it all.” This has the desired effect and shuts his brother up.

Bronn pipes up smiling from the other side. “So, how many pairs of tits do you think we’ll get to see today?”

Jaime rolls his eyes and ignores Bronn and cuts off Tyrion before he can speculate. “What’s the episode about anyway?”

Tyrion leers, waggling his eyebrows. “You should like this, Mr. Black-Belt-Jiu-Jitsu: “Women Who Can Kick Your Ass.” Apparently it’s an all-woman personal security firm, one of whom is some super-advanced black belt in taekwondo. There will be demonstrations of their prowess to show how serious they are.” 

Jaime rolls his eyes once again, and thinks it’ll be sleazy nonsense (because Baelish), but could also be kind of cool if these women are for real. And hey, it’s _got_ to be better than going over the figures for the quarterly report before presenting to the board…and their father.

Tyrion discretely offers him the flask and Jaime takes it.

* - * - * 

Arya discretely offers Brienne her eyeliner. She takes it looking at it like it might bite her. “I don’t know why you think that, one, I know how to use this, and two, it will make any sort of difference.”

Ygritte pipes up. “You agreed to do this because we need the explore. We’ll be able to use the footage seeing as I utterly destroyed their lawyer who wrote our rights to redistribute into the contract. Since so many people are going to be seeing us, it can’t hurt to have us all looking our best and you have fooking amazing eyes. Give it here if you won’t do it yourself.”

The only thing that could discomfit Brienne more than having someone else shove a pointy stick-thing near her eyes is having to do it herself so she capitulates and lets her colleague work her magic. After all, Ygritte has some of the steadiest hands she’s ever encountered. As if on cue, Yara walks by just as Ygritte finishes and gives her an approving look.

Arya silently saunters back in and nods approvingly. They’re all dressed in various tight blacks: black leather, black cotton-lycra blends, black spandex, black denim. The creepy assistant producer was disappointed when he saw no cleavage or short shorts but decided discretion was the better part of valor after his first two attempts to talk them into taking something from their stock wardrobe was met with four hard stares, steady stances, flexing fists, and Gendry’s threats to never again break out the back-up gaff tape as he readjusted the large wrench in his back pocket.

As the assistant producer retreats, Gendry wishes them luck and gives them their five minute warning. He reminds them that the show’s security will only intervene if someone else gets really out of hand and might get hurt. They were all taken aback by the bouncer when he briefed them earlier—not because of his noticeable facial scarring but because he was actually bigger than Brienne. When they were introduced, their eyes locked and after a long, tense moment, each nodded, having reached some sort of understanding neither of them would have been able to put a name to.

“Alright. I know they call me the Hound, but if I hear that from any of you, I will throw you into the back alley so fast and hard you’ll be tasting the piss and shit baked into the concrete for at least a month.” He stops, considers. “Maybe two. The layers of piss and shit out there that’s built up through the ages is practically historical. You call me Clegane.” He pauses to hold each of their gazes and waits until one by one, they nod their understanding. “Now, you all look like you can actually handle yourselves unlike some we get on here. Still, I gotta tell you: the audience is full of assholes and there ain’t nothing you can do about them yelling foul shit at you. I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.” (They have.) “Being a bunch of women, you’ll probably get at _least_ one dumbass who has something to prove and will try to get you into a fight. DON’T. Let me handle it. I’m staff and as part of their ticket agreement, they say that they’ll follow directions of show staff, and if they don’t and get hurt, they can’t sue. I’ll keep anyone who rushes the stage off you. If you touch them, you’re opening yourself up to all kinds of legal shit. Understand?” They nod. “Now, if you’re willing and they sign a release, showtime. But both you and them have to agree. If some lucky cunt gets past me and they lay hands on you, you can defend yourselves, but aim to stop, not kill because the DA and the jury probably won’t give a shit. Any questions?”

They shake their heads. It makes sense. They’re gratified that he’s treating them like the professional peers they are, unlike that asshole Baelish who came into their dressing room unannounced. They were all decent, but without a knock or a call…

“Alright then.” He leaves and Gendry runs out speaking into his headset, a quick hand on Arya’s shoulder before he disappears through the door.

Brienne looks to the rest. “Let’s do this.”

* - * - * 

“Let’s do this already.” Jaime is slumped in his seat. They’ve gone through Tyrion’s flask, and given the high alcohol tolerance of the three of them, they’re not even buzzed.

“Really? _Really?_ Neither of you thought to pack provisions?” Tyrion’s exasperation makes his usually deep timbre reedy.

“You’re the boss,” Bronn shrugs.

“I always was the stupidest Lannister,” Jaime grins sardonically. “I’ve been telling father for years he ought to be grooming you instead of me.”

Tyrion sighs. “Must I do everything myself?”

“Yes,” both his companions agree.

The lights dim.

“Showtime,” Jaime whispers.

* - * - * 

“Showtime,” Brienne whispers.

Baelish’s introduction is as unctuous as the man himself, but the Westerosi Women Warriors walk out with power and dignity despite the heckling, wolf whistles (the loudest from a sincere tall ginger man with a mighty beard who yells out appreciatively as he waves, “Hey, Big Woman! Kick some ass!”), and obscene comments. It’s easier to ignore the taunts secure in the knowledge that any one of them could beat the ever-loving crap out of these jeering idiots single-handedly—together, they could probably take them all down, the dogged security guard as well. (Nothing personal: he seems decent enough.)

Jaime eyes them and when Brienne turns and enters the light, her kohl-rimmed blue eyes shining, he gasps in something that might be horror, “Gods, is that a _WOMAN?!_ ” 

The crowd is loud enough that only Tyrion hears him. He rolls his eyes at his older brother. “Fucking hell, Jaime. You should know we can’t all be pretty as you,” a charming self-effacing grin, eyebrow raised. This shuts Jaime up like he knew it would. “Hell, she might be able to take down _your_ ass, so maybe watch your mouth?”

Then Baelish begins a banal, condescending interview that tries to make things more salacious than even _this_ show merits, and it’s time for the first demonstration. The women are more than ready to blow off some steam sparring with each other instead of murdering Baelish in front of a live studio audience, as tempting as it seems. Ygritte and Yara stand. (When he faces the audience to introduce the segment, both women flip him off and the audience cheers. By the time Baelish turns around, they are in their stances facing off.) They are of a height although different builds: Ygritte is all slender sinew where Yara is solid muscle. While it starts with jeering, soon even this bloodthirsty audience falls almost silent at the skill, speed, and strength on display. Their hand-to-hand combat demonstration even earns a few interested looks from the security guy—the best he can risk given his job being keeping an eye on the audience and he takes it more seriously than he does most things.

Tyrion nudges Jaime and whispers. “Tell me that you don’t think this is better than getting blackout drunk at a strip club.”

Jaime whispers back, “Almost anything is better than getting blackout drunk at a strip club—that’s _your_ kink—although I’ll admit this _is_ better than I expected. _They’re_ better than I expected.” And as a former (if disgraced) Secret Service operative, his opinion means something.

* - * - * 

“They’re better than I expected,” Brienne thumbs off her mic, leans into Arya, and points her chin at the audience.

“They should be. Wait ‘till they get a load of us,” Arya’s grin is wolfish.

And then Ygritte and Yara are done and exit with graceful, ironic curtseys to the audience and then Arya and Brienne stand as one. Gendry trots out with their blunted sparring blades (dual long daggers for Arya, a machete and dagger for Brienne). Where Ygritte and Yara looked nearly matched, the height and build difference between Arya and Brienne is remarkable. A few people in the audience boo and hiss, looking for a villain. A self-important red-headed man full of swagger shouts out, “Hey, Brienne! Yeah you, you ugly bitch! Pick on someone your own size! Or can you only beat up little girls? Can’t believe they’d let you on TV—aren’t they worried that your face will break the screens?”

Brienne and Arya turn to him as one and give him fearsome smiles. Brienne calls out, “Ron. What an unpleasant surprise. Let’s see if you still feel that way once my colleague and I are done here. I’ll be happy to knock you into the dust… _if_ you think you’re man enough. If you’re not craven.” She sneers at him, clearly not thinking him up the job.

Arya’s eyes are just as cold as Brienne’s as she cuts her eyes at him. “Please. Hardly worth the effort. Any one of us could kick your ass with one hand tied behind our back and not even break a sweat...but Brienne, out of professional courtesy, I’ll give you first shot.”

Brienne’s smile is terrifying.

* - * - * 

Jaime’s smile is terrifying as he and his brother and Bronn watch this unfold.

“Fuck,” Bronn breathes. “That’s a fooking woman. Look at ‘er legs! Fuckin’ Onnatop, right there! Right there, that! They go on for _days_!”

“She certainly is just waiting for the right Bond movie to find her,” Tryion smirks.

Jaime’s feeling a little confused—she’s blonde enough but nothing like his sweet sister so why can she command his…attention? He concurs the woman clearly could take this red-headed asshat without breaking a sweat, hands down if she’s as well trained as the her colleagues and her stance implies.

Then a hipster man gets up just to his left, a tall, ginger man with an epic beard bellows in all earnestness, “You _could_ kick his ass, but I’d prefer if you had mine instead: it’s yours for the takin’, Big Woman!”

The women on stage, Jaime, and half the audience rolls their eyes, but he notices the woman in question flush so deeply it somehow manages to clash with her black clothing. For some reason, some strange reason Jaime cannot name or understand, this calls to him: this massive warrior woman with her blue, blue eyes in a red, red face. Before he knows what he’s doing, from his seat he cups his mouth and adds, “Ignore these two assholes. Show us what you’ve _really_ got. It looks like you’ve got _something._ ”

Their eyes meet. For a moment, they’re both breathless: he by her ugliness and she by his splendor and both by their mutual recognition of physical power and repulsion. And while she wants to hate him on sight for being so heartbreakingly beautiful (and sounding like a loud-mouthed asshole), by some miracle, she actually understands him in this moment—not just the words (which his brother is burying his face in his hands at the thought of), but the intent.

She takes a visible breath as she tears her eyes from his and realigns herself to face Arya. The two of them get back into their stances, lock eyes, and just as the audience relaxes, they both spring at each other. Their skill is utterly matched and between Arya’s smaller size and great speed and Brienne’s reach and power, their dance is epic. While Yara and Ygritte are truly impressive, in seconds, it’s clear that these two are legitimate savants. It’s a brutal ballet that renders even the asshole Ron speechless for a time.

…but just for a time because all good things come to an end. When they conclude their demonstration, they face the audience and bow, heads up, eyes on the audience, the heavy tide of applause washing over them—much of it of it standing. The belligerent red-haired Ron gets up and rushes to the aisle, literally pounding his fist. “Okay, so you can hold your own against a little girl. What about a man?”

Aside from Ron’s friends, the entire audience is equally puzzled. Did they not just see how well these two women fought? Clegane, practically growling walks up calm and large and crosses his sizeable arms across his sizeable chest, easily blocking him from the stage with his much more substantial girth. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, bub.”

Ron either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that he looks like a ratty chihuahua facing off against a massive pit bull. Neither has he the sense to realize that the audience is against him as he calls out, “Let me at her! C’mon! I can take her!”

Clegane rolls his eyes and asks Ron loudly so that everyone can hear, “Are you sure? Are you _really_ sure? I mean, I don’t give a shit and won’t have to clean you out of the carpet, but if I was a betting man, I’d put all my money on her.”

Back on stage curled into her chair, Yara idly wonders if the bouncer is trying to stop or start a fight. Even money, she thinks.

* - * - * 

Even money, Tyrion thinks, trying to decide if the bouncer or the large woman will hit the obnoxious asshole first.

“Let me at ‘er!” He insists. “I’ll sign a waiver, I don’t care! I’ll show you how pathetic you are, Brienne!”

“You flippin’ idiot!” Her massive red-haired admirer with the hipster beard in the audience bellows. “She’ll wipe the floor with you wi’out even breakin’ a sweat!”

In the commotion, Baelish appears out of nowhere at Ron’s elbow with the necessary paperwork and a pen. He puts on a show of trying to dissuade him while simultaneously winding up the audience to encourage him. 

Baelish turns to the audience, still proffering the papers. “It seems he’s got something to prove to one of our warrior women.” He turns to Ron. “Now, I would _never_ suggest that violence is the answer, but if you’re as skilled a fighter as she, well, you’ll be able to keep it friendly.” 

In his rage and pride, Ron doesn’t even register the malevolent glint in Baelish’s eyes or their dark glee when Ron signs without even reading the forms. (This makes Tyrion both wince and laugh). Baelish looks them over to make sure every codicil has been initialed, that everything is accounted for. It takes him less than a minute before he pivots away and calls out to Brienne. “My lady! You have a challenger! Will you accept? His paperwork is in order.”

She squares her shoulders, stance strong, eyes cold. “I’ve been knocking men like him into the dust all my life.”

Jaime’s breath catches. Her stance, her look: she’s serious. And he’s sure she’s absolutely right. He doesn’t know what it is about her that calls to him, but he finds himself rooting for her. There is no doubt in his mind that she will win, but still, he raises his voice and arm for her.

“Not such a waste of an afternoon, eh, brother mine?” Tyrion’s smug smile oozes self-satisfaction.

Bronn speaks his thoughts, “Well, this will be amusing.”

Ron pushes past Clegane and rushes the stage. Brienne barely shifts and clotheslines him. He’s flat on his back, ass in the dust. She waits a long moment, looking at his inert form. Then she tilts her head to bring Clegane’s professional opinion into the mix. 

His impassive glare rakes him up and down. “Dumb cunt. I warned you,” he growls and then nods and once the show’s medics pronounce an all-clear, Gendry and the medics haul him off set.

She sighs, bored, as the crowd roars. Her eyes find the hole in the stands where Ron sat and recognizes Owen Inchfield. “How about you, Owen? Feel up to it?”

Owen decides to cut his losses and instead flips her off as he runs away.

Baelish seizes the moment. “One man down, another retreating! Surely we have _one_ man in the audience who will give this beauty a decent brawl?”

Nevermind that she never issued a general challenge: she’s still wound up enough to not stop him.

“Here!” Tyrion yells, seizing Jaime’s hand in his and raising it. “My brother might be able to give her a run for her money!”

Brienne’s and Jaime’s eyes meet for only a moment of horrified concordance before they both roll their eyes.

“Tyrion, no. No offense to the lady, but I’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Nothing to prove? Interesting. That _is_ a change,” she laughs, crossing her substantial arms. “Usually men are so ready to prove they can take me down.”

And for some reason, this rankles Jaime enough to be baited. “Why yes, I _am_ interesting. I’m not surprised you noticed even all the way over there, but I know how good I am.”

“And how good _are_ you?”

“I’m a 7th degree black belt in jiu-jitsu. Former special forces.”

“I’m a 7th dan black belt in taekwondo. Also former special forces.”

Their blood up, both of them knowing better than to be this childish but doing it anyway, they find it easy to ignore everyone else in the room. Bronn considers making Jaime sit his stupid ass down, but decides this will be far more amusing however it shakes out.

A small sheaf of papers presents itself at Jaime’s elbow and he signs them as mindlessly as that other idiot, only he knows Tyrion or his father will somehow fix it if things go wrong, buy the show and even the production company if necessary.

Clegane only raises an eyebrow at Brienne before pivoting out of his way as Jaime shucks off his jacket and tosses it to his brother as he ascends the stage.

_Taekwondo,_ he thinks. _Well, she’s certainly got the legs and reach for it._

* - * - * 

_Jiu jitsu,_ she thinks. _Well, he’s certainly got the speed and build for it._

They nod their bows, take their stances, and then all hells break loose. She’s faster than he expects and he’s much cleaner than _she_ expects. They are matched. After 20 minutes of non-stop action, the audience’s attention is starting to flag even if neither of them is ready to cede ground. Baelish forces a break, muttering something in his in-ear mic that they’ll just have to figure out how to cut the footage down.

Brienne takes the towel from Gendry gratefully and silently curses herself for not bringing her own: you really do need to know where to find your towel if you’re going to make it out there in the big, wide world.

As they’re shuffled off stage, her erstwhile opponent slinks alongside and gracefully insinuates a business card into her hand. “Hey, I know this is random, but that was the best bout I’ve had in ages. Let me know if you ever want to spar again.”

He sidles off while toweling his shining hair. She hates him for just a moment, him looking like a calendar model while she knows she looks like a (very large) drowned rat. While her head is down, she actually reads the thick, creamy cardstock in her hand. The letters are gold leaf, embossed in an understated but expensive typeface: JAIME LANNISTER followed by a phone number. Nothing else. Of course. _Of course_ it had to be someone like Jaime Lannister to give her a decent fight. The most scandalous secret service member in all history who is still a frequent player in the tabloid headline battles.

She slams her fist holding the card in the locker before she sinks down, shaking her head at herself. It was an amazing fight. …But Jaime _Fucking_ Lannister?! The man’s reputation speaks for itself. Still, it _was_ one hell of a fight. She shakes her head to clear it and (somewhat) absentmindedly puts the card in her pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Great thanks to [Kittles123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123) for the beta—this story is much better for it. Check out her work!
> 
> Dedicated to all the awesome J/B folks out there who are manning the pumps, forming bucket chains, and madly patching our poor mishandled ship that ran aground thanks to D&D being bewitched by Cersei's siren call. (Or more likely, Lena Headey's most excellent performance.)
> 
> This was something I'd started _literally_ years ago, and I have a few draft chapters in the hopper. If they've held up, there may be more.
> 
> Tags, ratings, and warnings will update if/when the series warrants it.


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